


The Language of Flowers

by claryfrary



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alina is the most passive aggressive person you'll ever meet, F/M, Me Neither, but here we are, did you know flowers could be so hateful?, no?, welcome to the company Morozova
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 19:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13488069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claryfrary/pseuds/claryfrary
Summary: Alina unwittingly meets the new Creative Director and dislikes him almost immediately. Passive aggressiveness ensues.





	The Language of Flowers

**i.**

Alina had always had a hard time understanding company parties - no one actually liked going because they took away the _kvas_ after Alexei got rip-roaring drunk and tried to table dance, not to mention it was just more time you had to spend with colleagues you already have had more than enough of by the end of each day.

But despite the horrid music and the people, there was a guy - the tall, dark and handsome type she’d read about on blogs and in magazines, who had been eyeing her in a way that made her have to look away so she didn’t blush outright. There was nothing worse than blushing, Alina thought, than blushing because of the way someone’s _looking at you_.

She pointedly ignored him and his crisp suit somehow a darker shade of black than his hair and made her rounds before leaving. She managed to avoid him...until he was suddenly standing in front of her, at least two heads taller and holding out his hand to shake hers. She did.

“Aleksander,” he introduced himself.

“Alina.”

“How long have you worked for the company, Alina?” The question was abrupt, spoken quick but calmly and almost disinterestedly.

Her brows pinched. “Three years.”

His hands folded themselves together, and he held them up somewhere around his midriff. “What is it you do, specifically?”

Alina had had plenty of practice answering this question. “I work closely with the Director of Art putting together ads and stuff like that. Really, I’m a concept artist.”

Aleksander looked contemplative a moment. “Not much, then.”

Her eyebrows shot up and her eyes peeled themselves open wide. “Excuse me?”

“I meant, you don’t contribute much, then.”

Indignant, she shot back: “I _contribute_ plenty, thank you very much. Without me, the Nazyalensky project would’ve tanked.”

Right. She couldn’t believe she’d ever _thought_ of blushing for or because of this man. Clearly she’d been deceived by the pretty face.

“The Nazyalensky project," he corrected, "did tank."

**ii.**

Alina was looking through some of the concepts that had been submitted to her before (and after) last night’s deadline for the new advertising campaign they were trying to put together when Fedyor asked her to pick up an arrangement for the new Creative Director.

Of course Alina had known when the company’s previous CD retired someone would be replacing them, especially after attending the retirement party herself, but she had no clue who had taken over. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. “Sure,” she agreed. “But who _is_ the new CD?”

Fedyor frowned as he stared at something he’d started putting together. “You met him last night, Alina. Didn’t you get his name?”

She tried to think back to last night, to all the people she’d met and been introduced to who worked for the company that she’d never even known existed let alone were technically her coworkers. “I can't remember,” she told him.

He rolled his eyes. “Think his name’s Alexander or something. I can’t remember his last name but it was _pretty_ weird.”

Her mind flashed to a tall figure, clad in a sharply-cut suit and insulting the position she’d worked her ass off for. “Do you mean Ale _ks_ ander?” She asked tentatively and praying. If he _was_ the new Creative Director, she’d never get away from him. He’d probably cut her position altogether because he thought it was so _useless_.

Fedyor shrugged. “Yeah, sounds about right.”   

Alina wanted to hit her head off the table. She also wanted to take back what she’d said about _Sure, Fedyor, I’ll get Aleksander-The-New-Creative-Director a flower arrangement on behalf of the art department_.

\---

After a long day at work, Alina made her way to the nearest flower shop. She might enjoy this a little more if what she had in mind was viable - and she was almost positive that, with Genya’s expertise, it would be.

A bell chimed as she opened the door and she noticed all the fake flower arrangements in the windows of the shop, the discarded leaves and broken stems littering the floor.

“What brings you to my humble abode?” Genya asked from behind a counter covered in a myriad of things Alina assumed all went into a proper bouquet: ribbon, little cards and flower petals.

Alina looked at Genya, and said, “how do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flowers?”

**iii.**

Aleksander stared at the clear vase overflowing with geraniums, foxglove, meadowsweet, yellow carnations, and orange lilies suddenly on his desk. The vase had pushed back his nameplate, and the sweet aroma was nearly too much.

He flicked his eyes up to meet the mocking smile of one Alina Starkov. He pushed the tip of the pen he held against his bottom lip. There was something about the way she held herself that made him think he was missing something. “What is this.”

She looked at him like he was stupid, and he almost - almost - smiled. “Flowers. For the new Creative Director, with love from the art department.”

\---

Those flowers bothered him for the rest of the day - so much so Aleksander even went so far as to google “the meaning of flowers”. It was there that Aleksander realized he _had_ been missing something. It was not typical for Aleksander to miss subtle cues.  

He looked up each flower in the vase. Geraniums meant stupidity, foxglove meant insincerity, meadowsweet meant uselessness (an insult thrown back at him, he suspected), yellow carnations meant to say _you have disappointed me_ , and orange lilies screaming _hatred_. It was a striking bouquet full of loathing that smelled nearly as good as it looked.

He was undeniably impressed by Alina Starkov.

**iv.**

Though Alina had been hoping (unrealistically) it would never happen, Aleksander caught up with her in the elevator on her way home Friday afternoon. They stood a few feet apart, and Alina couldn’t help still feeling so smug.

The machine had begun descending before either of them spoke, and it was Aleksander who broke that quiet, turning to face her, asking in a contemplative, impressed tone, “Did you tell me to fuck off via flowers?... Quite clever.”

Alina stared at him. She really, honestly hadn’t thought he’d pick apart the flowers in the bouquet and research the meaning of each. She hadn’t even thought he’d pick up on it - it’d been just her own little way of saying _fuck you_ without losing her job.  

“Perhaps,” he added with raised brows, “clever enough for a promotion.”

**Author's Note:**

> So...I'll probably come back and add to this because I'm not entirely happy with it right now. But I hope you all enjoyed Alina and her F U in flowers.


End file.
